The Truth behind the Misty Cloud

These photos are a reconstitution of what I witnessed you turned into.
I dressed up in your clothes, wore your hat, and sat under the blanket on our white leather sofa, the same way you did when you were endlessly staring at your personal screen.

You said you were tired, that work was too much.
You always had a video to finish watching, and no more time for cooking together.
You stopped going to the barn and on your weekly hikes.
You even stopped practicing piano.
You came back from work and crawled under the blanket, on that exact spot, zombified by your screen.
I got worried. But you said you were fine.

And then you started getting up really early, to go downstairs and occupy that sofa.
I would wake up and find you asleep there.
Sometimes you’d fall asleep sitting, like if you were in a plane.
I was worried you would hurt your neck.
I told you to get back to bed, to not sleep there.
But you kept doing it.
And day after day, you gradually turned into a grumpy old man sitting under a blanket, watching videos on a small screen.
We could not even have a conversation anymore, you became so ungrateful, bitter, and mean.

Many months later, I finally understood what was in your head, when you were sitting there, under my large misty painting, sending messages to a different time zone.
And when I took your spot for these pictures, I could feel the energy that has been built up overtime.
I wrote her name on the wall, in a place my painting would hide, so that it would still be a secret.
I could feel what it felt like to be you, lying and cheating, before you stabbed me in the back.
You turned into a grumpy old man sitting under a blanket, breathing lies to pretend to be alive.

Now that secret is out there for everyone to see.